


The Dream

by hobert



Series: Halloween Series [3]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:30:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobert/pseuds/hobert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An "old" friend of MacLeod's is having problems with nightmares...and finds an interest in Richie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dream

**Author's Note:**

> If I had to pick, this would be my choice for strangest story I've ever wrote.

_It was pitch black. And raining hard. Not to mention the lightning flashing in front of the car, so bright that the road was invisible until my eyes adjusted. Not the best time to be driving, not the best time to be arguing, but in both cases, we were. I don't know if it was the water coursing down the windshield, thrown about by the wiper blades, or my own tears of anger, but it was difficult to concentrate. The mountain road kept curving, but all my attention was focused on Evan. He was shouting. I was shouting. It was so deafening even the thunder paled in comparison. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, what I was saying.  
  
I never realized we had left the road until the car crashed through the barricade, momentarily suspended in space before careening down the embankment. I think I heard Evan scream, or maybe I did, but all I saw was the tree trunk, framed in the windshield, as we hurled toward it and it crashed through the glass...._  
  
With a start, I realized I was sitting up in bed, the damp sheets wrapped around my sweaty body. It was only a dream, I reminded myself. Only the thing you see every night. It was getting steadily worse -- my sleep shorter and the visions more real. Even though I'd live forever, I couldn't live much longer like this. I needed help. I wanted...much more than help. I needed...him.   
  


* * *

  
It smelled like him. Warm and musty -- the tangy scent of sweat and other body odors. This was exactly him. I walked through the double glass doors, arrested both by the sudden warning of his presence, and the heart-stopping sight. He was in the middle of one of his long forms, barely slowing down to gaze over at the door, and me. The only reaction was a small smile on his heavenly lips, a sparkle in his eyes, and he continued, ignoring me for all intents and purposes.   
  
Not that I minded. Not at all. A long time ago I realized I could watch him forever. Standing, resting, lazing back on the cool grass. Fighting. Writhing. He always moved like a panther, or some other cat, smooth and graceful. He was the same as I'd left him.   
  
It wasn't until the stains appeared on his tanktop that he slid into his closing forms, stretching each movement, each position out...as if performing for me. I smiled when I remembered how much he loved to tease. Well, two could play at that game.   
  
He stopped, slowly bringing his hands down to his side, his chest rising and falling as his breathing strove to catch up. He just stood there, hair a mess across his glistening shoulders, waiting. Waiting for me?   
  
I walked out across the hardwood floor, taking my time. A quick turn around him confirmed my suspicions that he had changed little. Still the warrior, the barbarian even in these modern times. Any other century, and I'd have embarrassed us both then and there. Even so, I felt the forgotten stirrings simmer beneath my control. God, he was handsome.   
  
"Duncan." There, I had said it. But standing here, so close, watching him, I realized he was so much more than I had first known him for. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod." Any less would do him an injustice.   
  
He smiled as I used his title, answering with his eyes his pleasure at seeing me. "Mark," he breathed, breathless from his workout, or possibly....   
  
It no longer mattered when I felt his arms slide around me, pulling me closer to his body. "It's been ages," he added, his mouth scant inches from my ear. He smelled good. Damn, he felt good. I tightened the hug, remembering all those times before. He had been special, this one had true to me. Not at all like Evan....   
  
I sighed, and he took that as a sign to release me. My body craved more, but pushing with this man was tantamount to driving him away. And I really did come for another reason. But the impish desire on his face, and his oh-so-lovely lips made me lean forward, hungry for a more personal welcome. But the gleam disappeared and his eyes darkened, and his smile left his lips. Worried? Unsure? Whatever his reason, I could read the signs.   
  
Instead, I rested my forehead on his, gripping his forearms as I summoned the courage to tell him why I was here. "Duncan, I...." Damn, this was harder than I thought. Not that he wouldn't help, he was too much a hero to let anyone suffer. But I'd seen him in "rescue" mode, and heaven help those that sidetracked him from the course. Even the very person he was helping.   
  
"Duncan...I need help." A similar squeeze on my forearms was answer enough.   
  


* * *

  
With a beer in my hand, I relaxed in the chair, composing my thoughts as he showered. Well, first I looked over every inch of his place, an excuse to not face what I was here for. The loft was sparse, masculine. A shame really, he was equally at home in splendor and opulence. I guess after Tessa died.... Hell, didn't I go for the Spartan look after Evan?   
  
Evan. Even thinking his name was still painful. I slumped back into the chair, taking a swig as I went over in my head what I was going to say. The bathroom door opened, letting steam escape. Duncan frowned when he looked at me, still dripping and clutching the towel around his waist. I hoped it was because of what he saw on my face, not that I was here.   
  
I squirmed in my seat, painfully aware of what my eyes were seeing, and how it was directly affecting portions of my anatomy. The Highlander blushed, and hurried over to his armoire. "Sorry," he managed to stutter as he dug among his clothes.   
  
"It's okay," I replied, sighing. It hadn't always been awkward between us. In fact, there had been times that he drew things out, knowing damn well I was watching every move he made. He seemed to get off on the attention. Now, he was embarrassed. "Although you have nothing to be embarrassed about," my mouth added while my mind was distracted in memorizing how he looked bent over to search in a drawer.   
  
He stood like he'd been stuck in the butt, ramrod straight and almost trembling. The drawer was roughly closed, echoing in the loft. I knew I had blown it just then. Too much time, too much had changed. "I'm sorry...I'll go," I managed to stutter, setting the bottle on the table and standing. I was almost to the door when I heard him.   
  
"Wait." It wasn't a plea, or a command. I wasn't sure what it was. My body slowly turned, until I was facing him. He was more sure of himself, standing relaxed with hands full of clothing, unconcerned that he was practically naked in front of me or that he was dripping on the hardwood floor. "We're as shy as a pair of schoolgirls, aren't we?"   
  
The mental image that brought up was enough to make me smile. "It's been too long, hasn't it?"   
  
Duncan nodded. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as...blatant...as you can be. I'm unused to it, that's all." He motioned toward the chair. "You've seen the floorshow, you might as well wait a bit and tell me what the problem is." He raised his eyebrow at me before turning and walking back to the bathroom. How could I refuse an ass like that?   
  


* * *

  
He came out moments later, dressed to the nines. Slacks, silk shirt. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, leaving his face exposed. He looked good -- for a 404 year old. I couldn't resist a whistle.   
  
"Like what you see?" he asked, turning in a circle for me.   
  
Yes! I wanted to cry out. No, I needed restraint. Faking calmness, I brought the bottle to my lips, appearing to consider my words. "Actually, I liked you better in a kilt." Oh, God, did I actually _say_ that? I hastily took a swig, wondering if I should get a lobotomy, since my mouth was certainly not attached to my brain at the moment.   
  
Apparently, he appreciated the remark. He sauntered over, messing with his cuffs. "Oh?" he innocently asked. That should have been my first clue that he was setting me up. "I thought you liked me when I wasn't wearing anything at all."   
  
I should have known better. I was halfway through a swallow, and beer and all came right back up as I started to laugh. With my mouth full of liquid, it only had one other place to go. Out my nose. Duncan jumped back out of the way, careful of his clothing. I was laughing, blushing, gasping, he was laughing as well, and for a brief second it felt like two hundred years before, and everything would be all right. For the first time in several years, I actually felt like it would be all right.   
  
"Hungry?" he asked, throwing me the towel he had been using in the bathroom. The way he said it, the huskiness of his voice brought a small smile to my lips. "...for _food_," he amended. Obviously my grin had been larger than I had thought.   
  
I shrugged as I finished cleaning the floor. "Sure. What strikes your fancy, Italian or Chinese? You'll have to decide since you know what's where." He was standing over me as I handed the soggy towel back. With anyone else in the world, it would have been awkward. With Duncan, it was perfect.   
  
"How about I cook," he managed to say as he hurried to the kitchen and disposed of the towel.   
  
It seemed like a good time to pull back, leave things where they stood. I had asked for help, he would give it. It was enough for me to sit on his couch, feet planted firmly on his coffee table, and watch him putter about the kitchen. Sometime in the last century or so, he had perfected the art of cooking, because he soon had smells wafting my way that made my mouth water. Not that it was easy to differentiate exactly what was causing the saliva.   
  
It was homey, and peaceful. Safe. Enough so that sometime before dinner was ready, I fell asleep.   
  


* * *

  
_"You son-of-a-bitch! Who is he?" It was hard to scream and drive, especially on such slick roads. I looked at him at the wrong time, hardly able to see the pavement with the tears in my eyes. All I felt was the wrenching of the wheel as we skidded into the side rail. I was thrown into Evan, my seatbelt the only thing keeping me from sitting on him.  
  
The metal guard gave way with a loud groan, and then the car, with us inside, was falling over the side of the mountain. The headlights barely illuminated anything as we plunged headfirst into the darkness, eyes unable to focus on the foliage as we passed. It was a sickening second, when everything stood still, heart stopped, breath frozen, that time when everything and nothing matters.   
  
I saw it, God help me, framed in the small circle of light, my mind comprehending what was rushing toward us right before we hit. The tree trunk was big, filling the windshield and blotting out everything but our doom. It took a second for the engine to compact, time enough for my horrified eyes to glimpse the hood bulge up. Like a bad commercial, I heard the metal screech and twist, sending fragments against the windshield. It held, by God, it held. But not for long.   
  
We were still moving forward, our momentum unabated by the sudden stop of the car's front. The metal body compacted like a forge bellow, the dash squeezing toward us as the windshield burst. I was flung forward into the steering column, saved from impalement by the belts. It was then I saw, out of the corner of my eye, his head slam into the dashboard that was suddenly too close to us. I only had a second to scream as the seat crushed us against the tree. "Eeeevvvaaaaannnnn........"_  
  
Arms circled around me as I shivered. I groped for him, wrapping myself around him, trying to protect my mortal love from death. It was only a dream, I reminded myself, clutching tighter. Soft words were mumbled into my ear as I was gently rocked. It felt good. For the first time in two years, it felt good.   
  
There was too much hair in my face. That's when I realized that it wasn't Evan in my arms. And I clutched Duncan even tighter.   
  


* * *

  
"It's hard...losing someone," Duncan reminded me when he handed me the coffee cup.   
  
I took it, thankful for the small warmth that replaced the Scottish body I had held. "I guess you would know. You were with Tessa for, what? A decade?"   
  
"Twelve years." There was a bitter smile on his lips, a look of pure joy tempered with incredible pain. He knows.   
  
I took a sip, feeling the hot liquid slip down my throat, it's heat moving outward from my stomach. "Not enough," I whispered, eyes closed. "It's never enough."   
  
"At least you had a chance to wed. I.... We...." There was no jealousy in his eyes as he looked away. Just sorrow. And wistful thinking. "I shouldn't have asked her."   
  
Before I could stop myself, I sighed. "Don't blame yourself for her death. Ever. If you didn't ask her, she still could have been killed. Your love wasn't the problem." The misery was in his eyes, dark pools that ran straight to his soul. "Duncan...." If I had learned anything in the last two years, it was how hard one must fight to not blame yourself for a death. "Blaming yourself, blaming anyonewon't bring her back. Nothing will. You didn't kill her!"   
  
"I know that." He glared at me, more from the pain than any anger towards me. "I just wish it didn't feel like I...."   
  
"...was moving on and leaving her behind?" He flinched. I had hit the mark. "It feels like that because that's what we're doing. Moving on. Or at least, trying to." And that caused me to look away, down into the depths of my coffee cup. My, the wonders one can see in a measly cup of liquid.   
  
There was silence between us, not uncomfortable. Just people lost in the memories. Sometimes it was good to reflect with someone who knew what you felt. Someone to share the loss, the regrets, the anger.   
  
"You said you had a problem?" he asked. His voice was shaky. I guess mine would have been if I had spoken first.   
  
I nodded, glancing up when I realized he might not even be looking at me. He was. "I think I'm being stalked." Stalked. That was the only word I could use to describe it. Hunted sounded far too active, chased made it seem like I was desperate. Even if I was.   
  
"Stalked." The way he said it, sounded like he hadn't much use for the word. "Mortal? Or one of us?"   
  
What a funny way to word it. "Of course it's one of us, it's just...." It was embarrassing, even though I was talking to person who knew me well. I just knew how he reacted to ‘my spookies' as he used to call it. "It feels strange. Not at all like a normal Immortal."   
  
He perked up at that, leaning forward to look me in the eye. "And...?"   
  
Now he was going to think I'm crazy. "And it started about the same times as my nightmares!" There, chuckle at that, Scotty-boy!   
  
Duncan didn't laugh. He just leaned back and looked thoughtful, stroking his chin with his hand. "What does he look like? Or is it a she?"   
  
It amazed me how quickly Duncan could change temperaments. Tormented one moment, lost in benevolence the next. Must be nice to have something else to focus on, besides living without them. "I dunno," I finally answered.   
  
All it took was a look and raised eyebrow. Damn, he had done it again. Such an expressive face, beautiful enough to make me forget everything else. My sigh was not the answer he was waiting for. Neither was my shrug. "I've never seen him. Or her. Just...at the edge of my sight. I turn, they're gone. But I feel it. I think...he's?...bald. In fact, he's...." I felt it, first, a vague wavering at the edges, that caused my stomach to tremble. "...here."   
  
Duncan looked skeptical until we both felt the Immortal, then his eyes widened as he looked to the elevator. It was up, thankfully, and the stairway door was bolted. I had checked it earlier. Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean...and all that rot. "Downstairs," he said as he stood. It wasn't until the katana appeared from his coat that I guessed what he was planning.   
  
"Duncan, don't," I warned, standing myself.   
  
He smiled at me, brandishing his sword. The look that announced he was 100% Highland warrior and son of a chieftain, and his territory had been encroached. "You know me better than that," he replied as he shut the lift door and traveled downward.   
  


* * *

  
I had gone through the coffee and taken two restroom trips before he came back up, looking none the worse for wear. "Nothing's been disturbed, not in the dojo, on the first floor or our cars. You couldn't tell anyone had been here."   
  
"He was here," I shot back, setting the empty cup on the counter a little too loudly. "It's getting worse, Duncan."   
  
My desperation must have gotten his attention. The sword disappeared and he was urging me to take a hot shower. I hadn't realized how late it was. "Look, I'll just go to my hotel...."   
  
"You're staying here," he announced, as if it had already been decided. Before I could get a word in edgewise, he added, "really, it would make me feel a lot better knowing you were safe." That got him one of my infamous dirty looks. "Please?" God, he *knew* I'd cave if he begged.   
  
Grumble, grumble, grumble. "Got any sweats I could borrow?"   
  


* * *

  
Duncan was right. I always hated that about him. The steaming water loosened muscles I hadn't realized were tight. An ache that had been developing right behind my eyes disappeared. And by the time the water turned cold, I was nodding off again, even with my afternoon nap.   
  
I stared at the couch, wondering where he kept the extra bedding. He must have noticed my look, because the next thing I knew, he had turned me around and gripped my arms. "You're sleeping on the bed."   
  
It took a supreme act of will not to look anywhere but his face. Apparently his idea of getting ready for bed was to slip on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. "And you are...?"   
  
"Sleeping on the bed," he said, nodding over toward the rather large piece of furniture. The gesture sent his flowing hair all over his face. I tried hard to not react, but something must have slipped through on my face, since he wasn't watching anyplace else. "Sleeping," he reiterated.   
  
"Duncan...."   
  
It was his turn to sigh. He never did handle challenges of his authority well. "You've been having nightmares." I nodded. "You haven't been sleeping much." I nodded again, slowly. "You need to rest if you're going to fight this Immortal." I nodded, then looked over to the bed. One of his hands came up to the back of my head, gently turning it so I faced him again. "You're safe with me. You know that, don't you?"   
  
I knew that. Damn, he was right again.   
  


* * *

  
Nothing could harm me. I felt warm, cozy, and safe. I must have slept some, because I woke up and couldn't fall back asleep. Maybe because I had a living, breathing, half-naked Highlander right next me, sharing body warmth and space. A dream come true. Sometime, in the dark, I had or he had moved closer, until we were touching. From there an arm had moved here and a leg there, and I felt his chin burrowed into my shoulder.   
  
It was a wonderful feeling I had missed, that comforting weight of an arm throw over my chest, his hair brushing my cheek. But he wasn't Evan. I'd know Duncan for two wars, five business ventures, a handful camping trips and innumerable late nights over several centuries. He wasn't the man I loved.   
  
He must have known I was awake. He told me about Garrick, and the horrors the dreamer had put him through. It sounded vaguely familiar. I must have heard about him, such esoteric gifts were rare among our kind. He admitted in the dark about his fear of insanity, losing control around his friends and loved ones. How deep down, he had been scared and terrified. Only in the dark could this proud, brave man acknowledge what he had gone through. I recognized that inside myself, and knew I had come to the right place. He held me harder before drifting off to sleep. The right place...   
  
 _It was dark where I was. I could hear them talking outside, the nurse and the doctor. Or was it two doctors? I never could decide. "What a night," she said to the new arrival. "It's always this busy on stormy nights."  
  
The man cleared his throat. "How's the Rivera boy? You were in surgery, what? Five hours?"   
  
"Yeah. Tough case. Massive head trauma and contusions." I could hear her pull out the chart and flip pages. "He's in a coma, that not unexpected. Stabilized, but still in critical condition. The next twenty-four hours are touch and go."   
  
"And the other guy? The report here says there were two people in the car."   
  
The sound of her laugh held no mirth or happiness. "DOA. Got himself impaled on either the steering column or a tree. Punctured a lung and that was all she wrote. He went straight to the morgue. Probably still on a table in the hall, with us being short staffed and all."   
  
Their voices drifted off, presumably down the hall. "Now, here's a nice one," she continued, her voice fading. "This guy was trying to fix a flat tire when the car slid down on him, broke a few bones...."   
  
Once they had left, I returned to the silent prayer I had been thinking for hours. It made a nice counterpoint to the steady beep-beep-beep in the dark room. Gotta get better, gotta get better, gotta get better, please God...._  
  
I flinched in my sleep, must have woken me. I had hated those days, those nights in the hospital, hiding and watching and waiting and praying. My body was trembling, held somewhat steady by the heavy form almost on top of me. It felt good to have someone hold me, to provide comfort even though he was still asleep. I concentrated on the weight of his arm, and the warm breath that tickled my neck. Thinking lazy thoughts about a Highland lad tossing stones into a brook, the kelly green of the forest outlining his stark white shirt and what treasures lay beneath....   
  


* * *

  
The words 'good' and 'morning' should not be used together in the same sentence, especially around me. The first thing I noticed was Duncan exiting the bathroom in a nice outfit, with a handful of crumpled sweats he threw into a hamper. He was probably up at dawn to work out, just so he'd be ready to face the day by eight. Me, I'm not that stupid.   
  
"Up and at 'em," he told me, pulling up the covers to expose my feet to the cold morning air. "We've got a lot to do today, and the sooner we get started, the sooner...."   
  
I just glared at him and tried to cover my feet again without crawling out of the bed. No good. "What exactly did you have in mind, O Masochistic One?"   
  
He smiled at me as he slipped a silver pocket watch into his pants. "I though I might show you around town, see the sights."   
  
It was an old hunter's trick, one I knew as well. "You want to see what bait the cat drags in. You and I walk around and find out who's trailing me."   
  
His smile grew wider. "I knew you were a bright boy. I have some dojo business to take care of, so come down as soon as you get ready, and I'll take you on the grand tour." I eyed the bathroom, and settled back onto the bed. "You better be ready in an hour, or I'll show you just how much better I am with a staff now."   
  
I was down there in fifty-seven minutes. What, me worry?   
  


* * *

  
"I thought we could hit all the tourists spots, make it look good, and then slowly move away from the crowds. Let him get lazy, and then let him expose himself." Duncan was telling me his plan as we stood in the office doorway, far enough away from the people working out in the dojo. I had looked around when I came down, but no one was Immortal, except Duncan. No bald people either. Just lots and lots of beef. My kind of work environment.   
  
"So, is it Italian or Chinese for lunch...." My voice caught in my throat as I felt him. It. Another Immortal arriving. Duncan's hand on my arm kept me from drawing my sword right there, in front of everybody.   
  
"It's all right," he told me, motioning to the front door. "Probably just Richie."   
  
It didn't feel like whoever had been following me. Gosh, I was even starting to panic at regular Immortals. I was about to comment when he walked in. The other Immortal. It was easy to tell he was one of us -- his first reaction was to scan the room. His crystal blue eyes stopped on us, and he started walking over.   
  
Ice blue eyes, like the Caribbean sea. I noticed things like that. When Adonis shows up at your door, you stare. In my case, I was ready to fall to my knees and prostrate myself. The black leather jacket, the tight jeans. His swagger across the room and the way his smile brightened as some of the customers stopped him to talk. It was nice, it gave me a chance to watch him. Must have died around his early twenties, maybe a tad younger. But he was in fighting shape, no baby fat anywhere I could see. And I found that I definitely wanted to see more. And hear more. And....   
  
Duncan must have seen my face, because he was pulling me into the office, dragging me really, and shutting the door. "No you don't," he said in my face, making sure he had my undivided attention. "I know that look, Mark. Tease me all you want, but leave Richie alone."   
  
"Possessive, aren't we?" I asked, almost turning away to look out the windows.   
  
Yes," he said, a little too forcefully, adding a squeeze on my shoulder for emphasis. "Leave him alone."   
  
I shrugged his hand off, about to tell him what he could do with it, when the door opened on us.   
  
"Hi," Adonis said, stopping as he leaned into the room. And he smiled.   
  
I lost it right there. He looked much better close up, and younger, maybe around twenty. The embarrassment at interrupting us in an obvious argument warred with his amusement on his face. It was that boyish charm that cemented my resolve.   
  
"Uh, Richie, this is an old friend of mine, Marcus Sutton." Duncan voice was pitched just a little higher than normal. It always did that when he was caught and tried to weasel his way out of something. The forced pleasantry rang a little false. I really couldn't care, because Richie walked on in and extended his hand. Oh, God, I'm touching him. "Mark, this is my...."   
  
Richie must not have liked what he thought MacLeod was going to say about him. His grip tightened, a little on the uncomfortable side, and he looked at Duncan, not me. That was okay. That warning look was something I never wanted aimed at me. "...best friend, Richie -- Richard -- Ryan."   
  
It was if the heavens opened and Jesus was coming right then. Richie's face broke out in a huge grin, and he started to pump my hand enthusiastically all over again. Like I was bothered by it, he was touching me and my brain cells were short circuiting. The kid should really bottle that smile. And those eyes. That hair. I was about to look down and continue to mentally catalog his attributes, when Duncan pulled us apart and started hustling me out of the office.   
  
"Bye," I managed to yell at Richie -- Richard -- Dick! -- as we left out the front double doors. My next words were toward Duncan and probably blistered the hallway paint. Too bad he was Immortal.   
  
"She probably was," the Highlander admitted as we stepped into sunlight, "but you still better stay away from him. Or else." I had learned that Duncan's ‘or else' was not something I'd enjoy.   
  


* * *

  
Nothing productive happened, unless you counted eating some of the best Chicken Parmesan this side of the Mediterranean Sea. Duncan spotted a few likely candidates for the stalker, but we never sensed another Immortal. He dropped me off at the dojo, explaining that he had something to check out, and he'd be back a little later. It was strange, really. He'd never been that secretive with me, ever. Not about anything important, and by his serious tone, it was important. It no longer really mattered once I entered the dojo.   
  
He was there, stripped down to a tight tanktop and sweatpants, the nature of the outfit and perspiration leaving nothing to my imagination. That was good, cause right now my mind wasn't able to piece two words together. Richie turned as soon as we felt each other. His guarded look faded when he recognized me. I was trying to find my voice to tell him to continue his workout -- yes, please continue that workout! -- when he shook his sword at me.   
  
"Care to practice?"   
  
Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Then shower and tussle and explore and compare notes and...and...and... "Yeah. Sure. Let me go change into some of Duncan's clothes." MacLeod would have been proud of me. I didn't even throw myself at him as I walked by. I did however allow myself the luxury of turning to watch him a moment before closing the elevator gate. He was back to working out with his sword. My, my, my. He was very good.   
  
I was back in a flash, waiting a bit so my visible nervousness had calmed. I had ‘practiced' a few times with other Immortals for interesting stakes, and what little I had been able to drag out of Duncan, Richie might be game. But then the mental picture of the Highlander walking in on us in the middle of the mats cooled my ardor. Hearing Richie tell me the doors were locked so we'd be undisturbed heated it back up.   
  
We faced off, keeping it simple and light for a bit, each testing the other, gauging who was better. We seemed almost evenly matched, his training with a master against my experience, scattered though it was. We worked harder, which did all sorts of wonderful things to his body. Mine as well.   
  
He drew first blood. It was my fault. Any sane person should not have to feel him brush up against your skin. I'll admit it, my concentration took a holiday. It was enough so that his next strike slipped easily through my guard and sliced along my side. His eyes acknowledged the small victory, but he didn't stop, didn't pause. "Well done," I managed to gasp as I protected that side long enough for it to heal. I was rewarded by a small blast of that smile. A dangerous weapon, if he ever learned to use it. Of course, in that case, I'd just be putty on the floor right now, wouldn't I?   
  
One thing I did notice was that he was tiring faster than I was. Partly because he was less used to extended continuous swordplay, but mainly because I kept a defensive posture, letting him attack all he wanted. It slowed him down, enough so that I scored some hits. It wasn't like I was *trying* to cut his shirt to shreds. But lots of interesting pieces of anatomy peeked out at me. So, once again, we were evenly matched. Like I was going to complain?   
  
I figured a joke would bring a smile to his face, lost in concentration, so I told him that I hoped his Duracell battery wasn't losing steam. He started to laugh, but I never noticed, I was....   
  
 _"He's gone into defib," someone shouted. I couldn't move, frozen in the bustle around the hospital bed. People were running in and out, all of them talking and working and moving and yelling....  
  
"CODE BLUE, ROOM 2277," I heard them announce over the paging system, the same time someone yelled down the hall for the crash cart. The heart monitor was stuck in a whiny, single note that wormed its way into my brain, sending pure terror straight into my heart.   
  
"Three hundred," a male voice shouted somewhere in the mass.   
  
"Charging" was the reply. Then the awful noise of painful electricity shooting through a body sent chills down my spine. It was so cold in the room. With all these people, why should it be cold?   
  
"Again," came the frantic order. Again, there was the body-convulsing torture that would restart a lifeless heart. It was too soon, way too soon. There hadn't been enough time. Not this young, not this early. Please God...._  
  
"What's the matter?" Richie asked, somewhere close to my right ear. I was hunched over on the hardwood floor of the dojo, with him right beside me. Must have frightened him, falling to my knees like that. I was frightened too. Why was this happening?   
  
It felt good where he touched me on the shoulder. Anchoring me to the here and now. Keeping me from that awful hospital room full of death and loss and hopelessness. Richie was real, the dream no longer such a vivid reality. I told myself to stay in the present. "It's...," I started to explain, but my terror flared, as I realized that part of my fear was *him*. My stalker was back. I would be unable to face another Immortal and Richie was just too young. He was approaching, what would I do?   
  
Richie felt it then, the Immortal after me. "What the...?" he asked, starting to stand and walk toward the door. I wanted to shout it wasn't Duncan, but there was no time. He would hear, and that would damn us both.   
  
"This way," I whispered, grabbing him forcibly by the arms and dragging him to a dark corner. There was equipment scattered around, making shadows and confusing the eyes. We could hide there, and be safe. I ignored his protests and struggles, throwing him face first to the ground, and covering him with my body. I had to protect him. This was my problem, and if I got him killed, Duncan would never forgive me. He tried to argue, but a hand over his mouth stopped that. "Quiet," I urgently whispered in his ear, hoping he was smart enough to listen.   
  
We lay like that, hiding in the shadows, as the other Immortal walked in. The doors creaked open and soft footfalls clumped across the wood flooring. Richie wiggled under me, not helping matters. At any other time, having a squirming young man under me would have given me ideas, but right this second it could get us killed. "Don't!" I barely breathed, more consonants than vowels.   
  
I wasn't quiet enough. The footsteps stopped, and I could hear whoever it was wait. They were searching the room, trying to rationalize the barely heard sound. I prayed that Richie would hold still, a seemingly bizarre request from me. I prayed a lot in the last couple of years. It seemed to work. The footfalls finally started again, heading away from us, out the door. I stayed frozen, clamping down on Richie, until I could feel that he was gone.   
  
"Who...what was that?" Even though we were alone, Richie still whispered. I'm glad to know he felt the strangeness that I did. He looked young and vulnerable as he stared at me. Probably wondering what kind of weird shit I was into.   
  
It was too painful to look at him, his eyes full of concern for me, and a willingness to help. I could see why Duncan was fond of him. "Someone's been after me. That guy. Duncan's trying to find out who it is."   
  
The mention of MacLeod's name seemed to jar him out the fog he had been in. "You can't stay here," he stated as he stood and offered me a hand. Bright lad. We collected our swords and then Richie left a message on the answering machine. Nothing specific, but would let Duncan know where we would be.   
  
"And where are we going?" I asked as I settled behind him on the bike. Despite the blanket of death and despair that was hovering over me, I was getting a lot of good moments. The kid relaxed as I encircled his waist with my hands.   
  
He leaned back against me, so his turned face was near mine. "My apartment. This guy wouldn't know where it is. I'm unlisted."   
  
As we rode off into the darkness, and I clutched him tighter than really necessary, I wondered if that was because he was in high demand.   
  


* * *

  
I was in a bachelor's nirvana. Mismatched furniture, delivered pizza, and a cold six-pack. That would drive any gloom away. And sharing it with Richie only made it better. This time I was going to sleep on the sofa, and in one of his tee-shirts as an added bonus. I was curious about his sleeping attire, and whether he would do something different with a stranger around. He peeked out around his bedroom door, the only light still on behind him, to check that I was comfortable. Blue boxers, and nothing else. I told him I was fine. More than fine. And offered him my thanks. He was backlit, with the outline of his body a stark contrast, his face and torso hidden in shadow. He said any friend of Duncan's was a friend of his, and left it at that. Yum. What a lovely image to fall asleep too.   
  
 _It was deathly silent in the hospital room. And dark. Only the murmur of the heart and lung machine broke the stifling quiet. No one came to visit much, anymore. It had been too long. A coma, everyone knew. And if it lasted too long....  
  
They said a person in a coma could possibly hear, and know, and experience, so everyone was bright and chatty, trying to pretend that this wasn't as bad as it looked. But as months passed, and nothing changed, hope dwindled. Even for me.   
  
Only a nurse came round any more, every few hours. Maybe another visitor once a week. But the longer things stayed the same, the more everything changed. There was nothing anyone could do. This was out of everyone's hands, except maybe God's. That's why I prayed, even though I never really believed in it before. Couldn't hurt. At this point, nothing could hurt. Nothing did hurt.   
  
There is always some point where the hope that death won't come changes slowly into a welcome call. This wasn't living, having a person bath you and clean you and having your food added to the steady drip of things that did nothing for you. That wasn't living. That was worse than death.   
  
So there comes a point when you want Death to visit, and make everything end. Have it over with. Give people a chance to go on with their lives, instead of being trapped in the emptiness of waiting. Please God, please let Death come...._  
  
Pounding somewhere outside the apartment awoke me. I sat up just as the wood frame buckled and the door burst open, revealing Duncan with his katana in hand. He looked like he hadn't slept, and was still wearing yesterday's clothes. He called out Richie's name as he flew in, his desperate shout turning into a quiet question as he took in the room.   
  
I looked around also. It was a mess, much worse than I remembered from last night. The beer cans were all over the place, the shelves had been cleaned off, and on the floor....   
  
My mind froze on that one particular sight. Richie was laying there, still wearing only his blue boxers, on his stomach. He was in a particularly awkward position, but he wasn't moving. There was blood everywhere, and his head had rolled several feet toward the kitchen.   
  
"RICHIE!" Duncan screamed the name, falling to his knees. I wanted to help, to move, but I couldn't. I was in shock. What had happened and how the Hell had I slept through it? I managed to stumble over to Duncan, and place a hand on his shoulder.   
  
Before I knew it, I was backed against a wall, MacLeod's hand clamped around my throat. "Why did you do it? How could you?" he asked as tears choked his voice. I stared at him in horror, how could he think I had done such a thing?   
  
"It wasn't me...it was...."   
  
He never let me finish. His fingers dug deeper, closing off my air. I fell silent. "The door was bolted, from the *inside*," he told me through clenched teeth, driving my head against the wall. "So were the windows."   
  
"But it still could have...."   
  
He rammed me back full force, my head exploding in pain as it slammed into the wall again. Duncan's tone was slow and measured, as if he were trying hard to keep from killing me. "His *blood* is on your sword, Mark. His blood...."   
  
There was fury in his eyes, dark and churning with rage. His face was shaking, his whole body was trembling. He was a lion ready to pounce, held back only by a thought. I had to try and get through to him. "Duncan...."   
  
His face was inches from mine, his breath filled with fire and brimstone. "Never utter my name again. I see you...I'll kill you." Then he was gone into the dim hallway, like a shadow in the night, his trench coat swirling behind him. Leaving me alone with the decapitated corpse.   
  


* * *

  
I don't remember clearly what happened next. I knew I wandered around town, lost and confused. Suddenly, I looked up and I was surrounded by abandoned warehouses and the tangy smell of sea air. The docks.   
  
Whoever it was had orchestrated things perfectly. My last layer of defense had been turned against me, and one of the few sympathetic people I had known had been killed, adding another Quickening to the bastard that was doing this. I felt so alone. Evan was dead, Duncan.... My support system had been sliced away, leaving me naked and helpless.   
  
I knew he would come then, when I was alone and weary. I no longer trembled at his approach. I saw him clearly for the first time, standing further down the wharf from me. I could see why he operated this way, he would stand little chance in full-out combat. He was bald, like I had thought, and a little on the skinny side. Looked like he stayed inside a lot, too. A book worm. Dressed in black, fitting.   
  
That thought made me look down. I watched as my hand brushed the borrowed shirt, material that had known Richie. It was a sad and precious gift. I drew a deep breath, smelling what was left of his scent. There was nothing left for me, but to remember, and fight, and die.   
  
I felt another Immortal then, and tuned to see Duncan approach. He made no move to help me, intent on watching my demise. Might as well. It could possibly heal the pain that Richie's death had caused. I ignored him and turned to my opponent, and raised my sword.   
  
It was pathetic. I had no desire, he no skill. We were evenly matched, if I had wanted to win. His sword slipped passed mine, to land countless hits all along my side and arms. The pain felt good. It let me know I at least was still alive. That, and Richie's shirt sparked something deep inside. I wanted to live, not die. Giving up was not in my nature. I fought harder, but it was almost too late. I had let him wear me down, and I had nothing left in reserve.   
  
I used a move Duncan had taught me, but it was easily blocked. Another attack and my sword was knocked from my hands. I felt it, his cold steel blade at my throat. My breath came in ragged gulps as I waited on my knees. Even though it would be the ultimate humiliation, I looked toward Duncan, for mercy, for help. His eyes were cold and hard.   
  
The sound of sword slicing air was my final warning. I closed my eyes, not wishing to leave this world with Duncan's angry gaze. But visions of Richie in the doorway, and MacLeod during his kata had deserted me, leaving me with only death and blackness. I did not want to end it this way. I wanted to call out to MacLeod, make him understand. I did not want to die on my knees. "DUNCAN!" Please God, I wanted...   
  
 _It was deathly quiet in the room. No machine made a sound. Nothing moved. Everything was dead. I heard the doctor, outside the room, talking. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything.  
  
"Mr. and Mrs. Rivera? I'm sorry to tell you that your son died seconds after we turned off the life support equipment." His voice was full of concern, and sorrow. Even though it was a patient who died, someone he didn't even know, after two years it was hard not to feel something.   
  
Estelle cried, and I could imagine Jose pulling her close. "It...it was what he wanted. I...I just hope he wasn't hurting..."   
  
"Oh, no," Doctor Bronson assured them. "Our testing showed he was feeling nothing toward the end. No brainwave activity at all. He felt no pain. I'm sorry to bring this up, at such a trying time, but I need to go over a few things with you." I could hear him pull out papers. The doctor was always messing with paper. I wanted to tell him he should take up origami. "The name on the death certificate should be Marcus Javier Sutton?"   
  
I could picture my mother nodding. "Yes," she said, her tears making her voice husky. "He had it changed right after marrying Evan." Saying his name, even after all this time made her cry all over again.   
  
Inside the room, cold and clammy, the body relaxed even further. The blood slowed, then stopped, and finally accepted gravity's pull Brain cells died from lack of oxygen. The lungs collapsed, no longer needed for their ceaseless work. As air passed through the esophagus, the vocal cords vibrated one last time. The mouth was open, as the last of the precious gas escaped into the room, carrying the sound waves imparted on them. If you lean in, and listen real close, you could make out a small, quiet sound, barely even two vowels stuck together.   
  
"...uuuu...aaaa...."_


End file.
